Bubbles
by Pulpo Fiction
Summary: Previously a one-shot; now a Makorra one-shot collection. Fourth one-shot: Mako and his windowbox full of flowers.
1. Bubbles

**A/N:** I wrote this fic in response to the prompt "bubbles", because it's Makorra Week on Tumblr and DeviantArt. Pretty fun to write, hope y'all like it.

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Dish duty with the Air Family is a messy affair of negotiations and diplomatic arrangements - it's your turn to the dishes but I did it _yesterday _and Jinora's just reading her book she's not even _doing_ anything I just want to read in peace Dad please quell my darling sister but _Daaaaddy_ Ikki, you know the ru - hey Korra can do it hey Korra you can just use waterbending it'll be quick _KooOOOooorraaAAAaaa_

After a surrendering, pleading look from Tenzin, Korra shrugs, and helps herself to Ikki's last strawberry. The squeals of victory collapse into despair as Korra pops the strawberry into her mouth, winking at Mako. She might as well just use water-bending, just to get it over with, and then they might as well just go for a walk around the island, because the night is clear and the stars are sending cool feather touches down from the sky. And there are other things they might as well do, like hide stolen kisses and glances snatched from the air in the island's more secluded spots, and other things…

"Thank you for dinner, Pema, it was delicious," says Mako, unfolding himself and rising from the table as Pema smiles and waves his words out of the air with a tired hand, holding Rohan to her chest with the other. Korra gets up too as Ikki scrabbles out of her seat and grabs the end of Mako's scarf, flapping it vigorously with both hands.

"Hey Mako, will you come play with us? Wanna catch fireflies? Are fireflies just bugs that firebend? Can you teach me how to fire bend and then maybe we can find a dragon – "

"Nope, I'm kidnapping him," says Korra swiftly, and she swoops down, wraps her arms around his legs, and lifts him easily into a loose fireman's carry over her shoulder. Mako turns pink and grins as he finds himself at eye level with Ikki, who hits him with the end of the scarf.

"Oh, I think I'll take this too," says Korra, taking a step back, and she reaches out to pinch Ikki's nose between two knuckles. Ikki squeaks and claps her hands to her nose as Pema bursts into laughter. Korra wheels into the kitchen, Mako still loaded onto her shoulder, scarf trailing to the floor. The kitchen is quieter than the dining room, and they're alone; through the window Republic City is brushed with soft light that sharpens into bright flecks as it hits the water.

"Here's your stop," Korra says, and she deposits Mako onto the countertop next to the sink.

"I didn't know the Avatar provided taxi services," he says, his face flush with color from being upside down, and she turns her head away, grinning, moving her hand from it's spot on his hip into the sink – "wait, here's the tip."

He slips a hand onto Korra's cheek, turns her head and kisses a sticky smear of bright red strawberry juice right under her bottom lip. A hot shiver careens up her spine and up the back of her neck, and she moves to close the kiss, just catching the salty rough touch of his lips on hers before she remembers – oh, _dishes_. And she breaks away, unable to control her grin. They are both in deliriously good moods from dinner; moods that unraveled as they passed fleeting touches to each other under the table, caught up in the thrill of casual secrecy, and now Korra feels her mood braiding to Mako's.

"Okay, let's get this over with," Korra says, splaying her hands like a musician over the sink piled high with dining rubble. She takes a deep breath, pauses – how best to wash as many as possible with water-bending, and without leaving a mess – and his hand flutters over hers, stopping the form before it starts.

"You don't have to rush. I'll help," Mako says, sliding off the counter and turning the spout, flicking at the water until it runs hot. Korra takes the first bowl and soaps it with the sponge. She is acutely aware of him as he stands next to her - the way they brush together when he takes the bowl from her grasp and turns it over under the spout; the lean cut of his body under his clothes, the gleam of his gold eyes as he glances at her, his lips twitching into a smile. The gravity of her world tilts left towards him and her senses flow there all at once. Korra soaps a few more dishes, mindlessly; the view out the window flattening out of focus as she daydreams…

"Can you make a bubble?"

"Huh?"

Mako nods at her hands, slick and foamy with soap.

"A bubble? Of _course_, I can make a bubble," she says defensively, and of_course_ she has to prove it – Korra makes a fist and opens it slowly, blowing into the film of soap clinging between her pointer finger and thumb. The bubble wavers and inflates to the size of a grapefruit, and she pinches her thumb to her finger and turns her hand over, showing him the glossy, opalescent dome in her palm.

"Mm, you need bubble bending lessons," he says, shaking his head sadly, and she pops the bubble in alarm.

"What? No I don't," Korra says, soaping her hands again and rubbing them together. It was a perfect bubble. And she'll make another perfect bubble. And it will be the greatest bubble ever and _then_ he'll be sorry. She does it again, eying him under raised eyebrows as her second bubble expands under her loosely closed palm, jiggling under its own weight. His throat rumbles in mock disapproval and Mako reaches across to the soap dish, soaping his own hands.

"Fine, why don't you show me whatcha got," Korra smirks, popping the second bubble with a twitch of her fingers and leaning against the sink, arms crossed.

"You're not ready for this," he says, matching her tone, and he takes a breath, furrows his brows, puckers his lips and - makes a bubble. It billows under his palm to about the size of a lemon and he stops, holding it out to her. He probably could've made it larger, and her bubbles were both at least twice that size. She is unimpressed. That bubble needs to be poked into oblivion - then she'll show him how it's done, she is a master bubble bender and she is one with the Spirit of Bubbles – but with a quick motion from his wrist, Mako somehow slides the bubble off his hand and it floats, alone, in the air between them, drifting upwards until it vanishes with a petite pop.

"Hey!"

"Told you," he says, nudging her and grinning; he takes the last bowl and begins to scrub at it.

"The art of bubble bending," Mako begins dramatically; she flicks water into his face. He squints the drops away and starts again: "the art of bubble bending is taught in the distant land of Narook's Noodlery, where only the finest, hardiest dishwashing orphans are taught its ancient and noble forms…"

He sets the last dish aside and holds out his wet hands; she bends the water away.

"…At least until they quit, because Triad grunt work offers better cash," says Mako dryly, and for a second there is a brief flicker of a memory grimier than those of the kitchen at the back of Narook's. It passes and Korra tilts her head at him, her gaze sliding from his eyes to his feet and back again. She feels an odd pride swelling in her chest as she looks at him, shortening him by a few feet in her mind's eye, adding roundness to his face, leaving the same infinite intensity shining through his marble eyes, and tucking the scarf away somewhere it won't get wet –

"Did you wear an apron?" she asks, giggling. He nods and she laughs - her mental sketch of Mako at twelve years old is not complete without this detail.

"Mm, what's so funny?" he hums, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer, so that they're pressing together. His palm skids lightly against her cheek and stays there, fingertips on the curve of her ear so that she barely feels it and yet it has pushed out all of her other feelings…

"Oh, nothing," she murmurs, and she feels silly because she can't stop smiling, but she also feels warmth pooling between her hips and it gives off a haze that spreads under the skin of her face, and the damp drag of his lips burns the spot where he kisses her on the neck and then he sears the spot right under her ear and it hisses hot and wet.

And suddenly heat cracks all over Korra as he leans her over the counter and laces his fingers into her hair and tilts her face up to kiss her, his breath like smoke on her tongue, the numb humming of her lips slick against his, their mouths tight on each other and from her body he pulls fire and because it hurts she clings to him, holds him to her. She's too dizzy behind her closed eyes to let go just yet.


	2. Literature

Turning this into a ficlet collection. Here's number two. The prompt was "literature" and it's fluffy as fuuuck.

Korra is sitting on her bed and reading a book that Jinora left lying around, and she's almost eighty pages in when, without warning, Mako stumbles into her room, peels off his coat and scarf, and flops onto the bed, nosing under her arm to put his head in her lap.

"I'm exhausted," he says, shucking off his gloves and flinging them away. She freezes in place, doing her best not to clap the book shut and throw it out the window - it's the type of book that Jinora really shouldn't have left lying around, because if Tenzin and Pema saw it, they'd probably have to sit Jinora down and go over the reptile birds and scorpion bees, thoroughly.

"Hello to you too," she says, dropping a forearm onto his chest and resettling. He is scratchy with day-old scruff, and his snug white shirt is scuffed with dirt across the front. The late afternoon light is paling the colors on the walls, and she can feel the movement of her own breathing, deep in her body, against the weight of his head.

"What'd you do?"

"Cop stuff," he says blearily; "you know. Protect and serve. You're under arrest. Duty, honor, dumplings. What're you reading?"

"Oh, umh. You know, Avatar… stuff," she says casually, but a blush flares across her face and he smirks, catches her wrist with one hand, and tilts the book over himself with the other. He frowns at the characters and detaches her from the book, holding it over his nose while her blush heats and heats –

"What's that say?" he asks, pointing at a trio of characters; and for a second Korra is confused; clearly, clearly it says – oh, that's right, he can't read all that well. And a plot forms.

"It says 'earthly attachments,'" she says, furrowing her brow in the guise of reading. He makes a hum in the back of his throat in understanding, and she's about to get away with this, thank the spirits - until he clears his voice and reads aloud in a deadpan: "Beili felt the press of his cheek against her thigh, his tongue brushing hot… honeyed strokes onto her aching earthly attachments'wait, what – "

"Aaand we're done," she says helplessly, trying to pluck the book from his hands, but he bursts out laughing, the sound vibrating through her as his chest heaves, and flips the book over to look at the cover.

"'A Whisper of Silk and Swords,'" Mako reads slowly, voice shaking with laughter, and Korra's soul is cringing, curling up into a dense little ball that rolls in her gut, oh - fucking - spirits.

"It's pretty terrible, I was just reading it because I was bored, I can't believe I found that lying around," she babbles, scrabbling to save the last scraps of face; and he shoots her a skeptical, amused look, opens the book again, and wraps her fingers over the spine.

"Story time?" he asks, mouth cracking into a crooked grin.

"Really?'

In response, he winks at her.

Korra sighs. She just wanted to enjoy the book alone in the privacy of her room behind a closed door, because she is not naïve or dumb or anything, and sometimes, sometimes she just wants a little story here and there. But in moments like these, when Mako is dirty-faced and raw and acting all… snuggly, she lets her willpower slink away.

"Okay, so it's about this… this woman, who's a swordsman, and she's hired to keep this young nobleman safe as he flees from his evil uncle, and the guy is really prickly, but she's really stubborn."

"Go on."

The words flow like molasses from her mouth, she can barely get them out; but Mako is just grinning like a fool so she just pouts at him, her mouth a puckered moue.

"And in this part, they're on the run in the forest from the uncle's assassins, and there's a storm so they hide out in a cave."

"And… they have sex in the cave?"

"They have sex in the cave!" she yelps, desperate and enthusiastic, and he reaches up to push the book closer to her face, filling her vision with its pulpy beige pages and dusty ink. The characters loom large in front of her.

"Pretend I'm not here," Mako drawls.

Seeing as his head is in her lap, and his upper back is curving over her thigh, and every movement he's made so far has thrown the muscles on his bare arms and neck into lean, tensed relief, it would be hard to pretend he wasn't there, making her sweat. But a challenge is a challenge. Korra glances at him over the pages and his sunlit eyes are pinning her to the wall with a mischievous glint. She steadies herself and unsticks her voice from the back of her throat, skimming the page for the right knot in the narrative thread.

"Beili moaned as Du Lon's lips drifted over her skin like a breeze over water, barely touching. He nuzzled down the sleek plane of her collarbones and stopped at the soft hollow between her breasts, teasing her with a damp flick of his tongue. She ran her fingers through his hair and pushed down – enough already, she thought," Korra reads, and her voice slows down and lingers.

Mako's eyes are half-closed and his grin has flattened into a smug smile. He is, maybe, actually, a little too comfortable. Korra abruptly sits up, lifts his head, and twists her legs out from under him. He groans and tries to sit up, but in seconds Korra is straddling him, sitting heavily on his waist; and she claps a hand over his face to muffle his expression while she begins to read again with gusto:

"Beili knew what she wanted, her entire body tensed with longing and desire, and Du Lon could read the lines of her body like a scroll of poetry. He dragged a trail of butterfly kisses down from her navel to her curly patch of hair, and she let out a cry of desire that vanished into the sound of rain…"

"Juicy," he says, locking his hands together on the small of her back. Korra arches and lays a palm flat on his chest.

"Beili felt the press of his cheek against her thigh, his tongue brushing hot, honeyed strokes onto her aching sex, and she quivered and shook with each touch of Du Lon's skilled mouth as he licked and teased her – "

"I think I've read better smut on a bathroom stall," Mako says, but he's lying. She can feel him swelling under her, and her own warm burn of a feeling un-mutes and flares up, tangling hotly with her nerves.

"- As he licked and teased her– " Korra says again, with as much lasciviousness as she can muster, and Mako yanks the book from her hand and drops it over the edge of the bed with a dismissive toss.

"Plot twist," he sings happily, one hand on her hip, the other drifting to her hair, fingers flowing through and sending a cold tight thrill to shudder down her body. But Korra wants to write the scene, she has different ideas in mind – her fingertips graze up his forearms to his wrists and then tighten – she leans forward, pinning his hands behind his head, letting her breath fall onto his face from a hair's breadth away.

Korra kisses him and he curves up against her, their mouths pulling and taut, his salty street smell filling her; she cups his cheek with a hasty reckless slap and he deepens the kiss with a strong hand flung over her neck – the warm wet push of her tongue – his lips tense, drawing her in – Mako's eyelashes skim her face as his eyes flutter open; they both slacken silently onto each other and they fumble for slices of bare skin and Korra's senses collapse with a shiver as they kiss again.

Some stories, she thinks, are better told without words.


	3. Uniform

**A/N:** wrote this for Makorra month, originally posted to my Tumblr account. This is entirely M-rated Makorra smut, kids; it's completely NSFW. Hope you like.

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It's the first warm day of spring. Korra pads barefoot across the floorboards to the window and they're cool under her toes and heels, like she's standing on the surface of a polished ochre river. She undoes the sash on the window and throws it open so that the heat rolls in, curling and pooling into the room, a sea breeze slipping by shy and quiet.

Across the bay, Air Temple Island sits rocky and verdant on the jewel-blue sea, the sunlight glinting off the bronze-trimmed pagodas, and she leans out the window and takes a deep breath of springtime. Lazy afternoon, lazy day; a white bird tilts out of the sky and soars off on silent wings.

Korra hears the metallic chunk of the apartment door unlocking behind her and she stays at the window until Mako's hands are on her arms, ghosting up to her shoulders, and his fingertips draw small thrills that skate to the back of her neck.

"Hey, Hot Stuff," she says, grinning, as he slides his arm around her waist and tucks his head over her shoulder; his clean, shaven face is warm on her cheek.

"That's _Officer_ Hot Stuff - " and Mako drops a kiss on her jawline, pulling her closer - "to you, Avatar."

"No one can tell, you thug," she murmurs, as his other arm comes around her, and she tilts her chIn up so he can lip up her neck - a kiss here, a kiss there, one more over here…

"Lucky for me - I just picked up - my dress blacks," he says, and her eyes fly open.

"Really? I wanna see! Show me!" Korra says, reaching up with her hand to still him, pause his attention - she's proud of him, for studying, passing his test, graduating onto the force; she'd slept through his late nights drilling protocols and taken the phone call from Lin where the chief told her _his record's not too wild to tame, I think I can make an officer out of this kid._

"Alright, alright, hold on," Mako says, unwrapping from her waist, and he takes the crinkly grey garment bag off the back of the armchair and unzips it, his motions lively with excitement. First he pulls out the black dress slacks, perfectly straight and ironed smooth, not a single thread wrinkled or creased, and then the black jacket, bright with gold and red trim and shining brass clasps like splinters off the sun. Mako holds them up against himself, pants in one hand and jacket in the other, beaming quietly.

"Look at you, all fancy," she says, trailing her hand down the crimson sash and holding out a stiff black sleeve, the cuffs striped with red; "you're gonna be the prettiest boy at the dance."

"Aw - " he starts, and Korra chucks him under the chin. He's happy, and that makes her happy, and she knows what this means to him, having a steady paycheck and a job to do.

"You should put it on, I want the full effect of Officer Mako," she says, and he grins and lays the slacks and jacket carefully on the armchair so that he can shed his coat, his gloves, his scarf; she sits on the arm of the other chair and watches.

"So, Bei Fong told me that if you get arrested, I'm not allowed to spring you from jail," he says, as he leans over to take off his shoes, and she rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, if I get arrested again, I'm taking you with me, pal_," _she says, crumpling her nose, and his thigh muscles shift and flex as he takes off his pants; "no doubt about it."

"Well then, I promise not to tell her if you've been _bad_," he says, stepping into the slacks, tucking his grey tank top into the waist, and his grin is so dumb, he thinks he's so clever, that she crosses her arms and makes a face, sticking her tongue out in defiance. Mako laughs as he slips into the jacket and then bends on one knee to open the cardboard shoe box, pulling out a gleaming pair of polished black shoes. He laces them up and starts buttoning the jacket, fingers nimble and quick. Korra leans out and takes the hatbox off the coffee table, propping it on the back of her armchair and removing the stiff peaked officer's cap from its nest of white tissues.

It's a beautiful hat, the gold-embroidered insignia of the police force jutting from the leather band onto the dark, lush red crown, their motto in a bright, clean white curving gracefully over the black visor, a feather pattern on a wing. Korra holds it carefully in two hands until Mako is done with the jacket and sash; and then she stands up on tiptoes to fit it gently to his head.

She takes a step back and looks him up and down and bites her lip because - Mako looks good. Really good. The jacket is trim to his form, squaring his broad shoulders; and the gold piping of the asymmetrical fold swoops across his chest, the brass clasps pulling their loops into shapely teardrops of thread. The red sash narrows his waist, shaping him with assertive angles, the ends fluttering and wafting to rest over his hip. He's a coal on the edge of burning, catching fire; tall and proud and full of self-confident youth.

"Eh, it's alright," Korra says in a casual tone, tossing her hand, and Mako's eyes flash as he grins.

"Liar," he snorts, as he cocks the hat at an angle, and then he snaps his heels together with a click and throws her a salute.

"Avatar," Mako says, in a knowing voice, and Korra starts to feel a little light, a little warm...

"Oh, Officer, I'm so glad you're here," Korra says, in a high falsetto; "someone seems to have stolen my... shirt."

And she pulls her shirt over her head, her hair falling messy across her face, and drops it onto the floor, somewhere. Mako's eyes widen, his eyebrows disappearing under the visor of hat; she's not wearing anything underneath and his gaze burns her on the inside.

"You're ridiculous," he says, and she fixes him with a smirk.

"... they took my pants, too," Korra says, sticking her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, and stepping out of them on light feet as she rises from the armchair. Korra tucks two fingers into his sash and presses her hips to his, leaning back from her waist, with her smile splitting her face. He rests a hand tentatively on her waist, just barely skimming over her panties; Korra can see he's trying to keep a straight face.

"What are you gonna do, Officer Mako?"

His hands slide up her sides and where his cool touches meet her skin, there is a thrill of warmth; rising to her face and dropping to unravel between her hips.

"Uh, take evidence, file a report," he says, and she runs her tongue over her upper lip, idly, tasting the fresh color of the air, locking eyes with him -

"Need to talk to witne - oh, _fuck_ it," he growls, and lifts her, one arm under her thighs, the other around her torso, and she hooks her legs around his waist as he silences her gleeful surprise with a sloppy, wet kiss. Korra throws her arms around his neck and deepens the kiss; and their lips are loose and slick and she can taste the breathless words in his mouth, salty and rich.

"Where?" he says, muffled; and he tilts his head back to look at her better. Korra yanks the hat off and flips it onto her own head, running her fingers through his hair, and she loves the way he closes his eyes and inhales_, _a breathy hum of pleasure. _Mmmh_ -

"Um, table," she says, after a moment's thought, and she tightens her legs around him as he heaves her up and staggers forward across the room to the dining table. Mako sits her on the table and leans her back, so that her calves dangle over the edge and Korra is between him and the cool, hard expanse of wood. Korra holds him there, locking her hands behind his back, and he laughs low onto her face.

"I think I caught your thief," he mutters, and she claps a hand to the back of his head and arches into him so that he can stop talking already and smear lazy kisses onto her neck. The steam touch of his mouth spreads over her with a delicious shiver, and her arousal burns bare and aching between her legs, a dense flare of heat.

And Mako leans onto Korra, the uniform fabric crisp and warm against her naked body, caging her head between his elbows. The brass clasps are cool and sharp against her breasts, her ribs; the feeling bites deliciously.

"Reporting for duty - " Mako says, stroking down the side of her face with one hand, and he feels for her ponytail and pulls the wrap off, sending cool thrills down her scalp as his fingers flow through her loosened waves of hair. Korra laughs, making him sheepish.

"You're _such_ a dork! I'm gonna call you Officer Dork instead. Go to town, you know h - " she says, and he swallows the rest of it, slipping into her mouth, his lips tight over hers; he tips the hat over her brow and then his fingers glide down her taut skin and tuck into her panties, dragging them down, down her legs. She bends her knee up and out and he leaves the panties draped over the other, the fabric ruffled pale green over the brown.

He breaks the kiss and lifts himself, his hands flat on the table, and Korra takes the opportunity to slip her foot between his legs and slide lightly up the inside of his thigh, pointing her toes, firing herself on the way he winces in anticipation, eyes screwed shut, mouth half open, tongue limp behind his teeth. She gives him a firm nudge on the hip and he stumbles backwards, towards the armchairs; and Korra watches the sleek, swift movements of his dark form as Mako takes a cushion from the couch and comes back. His expression is glowing with the rosy orange of a candle in a red paper lantern.

"Up you go," Mako says, and Korra bucks her hips up again, allowing him to fit the couch cushion under her back, padding to her frame. And then he splays his hands and starts at her knees, sweeping up her body, slowly, gently; heavy on her thighs, his fingers dimpling shallow creases into the plane of her stomach, and then he palms over her left breast, tracing and feeling, almost weightless.

She moans in an undertone, feeling sweat seep over her forehead, down her neck, and maybe they should close the windows…? But they're not on the island, they're several stories up in his apartment and Korra likes the sound of the city in afternoon, an arid rustle of cars and trolley clangs, the bustling asphalt dance step of lives in motion. She likes being in it.

Korra squirms and draws him closer, hooking her ankles behind his back, and Mako sighs happily as he dips his head over her other breast. He mouths over the soft skin, taking his time, dragging his damp lips over the pert nub and then across her collarbone, and he nips at the other, yellow eyes glancing up to hers - and she fumes gloriously; he's searing circles onto her skin, kissing, caressing with coy licks - Korra groans and she can feel him chuckle into the valley between her breasts, his hand fumbling from her chest to her ear, a quick, smooth tuck of her hair - and then his two fingers curl her lips down and she opens her mouth for him, just a sliver, and he tastes ashy-salty, a crisp wood-fire stain on her senses.

Mako shifts his weight to part her legs, just a bit, and when he slides his fingers out of her mouth they're slick and damp and he trails them down to the very inside top of her thighs, lingering with barely felt strokes, everything melting, tingling under her curly coarse thatch of hair. She's already wet and swollen and Korra gasps, hisses through her teeth as he slips inside her, slow and steady, feeling, exploring, out of tandem with the throbbing hot ache in her folds - Korra moans again, curving up against him, and he kisses her with his other hand tangled in the downy hair on the back of her neck. And he moves down, puckering and teasing his way to her collarbone, then between her breasts, breath fluttering over her navel to the tensed, curved plane of muscle just past it, and she quivers as he stops and smiles into her skin, his hand still rocking into her -

"Agh - you son of a - bitch, keep - going," she hisses, her words withering away, all of her thoughts collapsing on themselves.

"Rude," he chortles, and she buries a hand in his hair, tugging roughly, almost shoving him further down, because Mako always takes his fucking time. Korra just wants him there, all of him; she shivers with heat as his fingers press into a spot that flares up all over her, breaking her skin into sweat and stripped nerves - and Korra exhales, a drawn-out keen of sound, feeling her bones shudder as he pulls out -

He looks at her as he sucks her taste off his fingers, languid and provocative, his cheeks hollowing and jaw tensing around them, and there is an obscenely wet pop of air as he slides them out of his mouth - it's not _fair_ the way he does that - and the idea of him with another man, and watching him go for it, just makes everything hurt that much _better_ -

There's a muted _thunk_ - _thunk_ as Mako gets down on one knee and then the other. He shoulders her thighs, draping her legs over him, and even through the uniform Korra can feel the rolling swells of hard muscle - and his eyes lock with hers, sunlight streaked with honey, and he nips and noses up her thighs, damp flecks of pure feeling, her blood set aflame and coursing up the inside of her skin.

"_Fuck_, Mako," she growls, threading through his hair, and Korra tugs again, making him stop, and he laughs to himself - _okay_, _no more of that - _and then she scrabbles and grips at nothing, clenching her hands, as he starts, slow and deliberate; his tongue is wet-warm on her. And for a few moments Mako is just _there_, musing over her cunt, teasing with small licks and strokes, and her nerves are singing icy hot through her - she whines, shaky and high, and tries not to claw her fingers into his head as he picks up a rhythm of broad, relaxed strokes, rolling up and down, painting fire onto her and through her. And Mako's a damn tease, making her wait, his hands drifting along her legs - and as he quickens the pace, everything is rising, tensing to an edge -

Korra yelps breathlessly, feeling cut open as he spreads her legs wider with a blunt push, and she bites her lips, her nerves uncoiling, as Mako mouths onto the dense knot of raw, pulsing heat and sucks her, licks her, to the top of senseless thought - and he draws out all the feeling, all the airless sound in her chest and the stars blistering white in her eyes and the seething, taut freeze of her body, and she cries out as she comes, a deep shudder that crests through her, and she falls, and falls, and falls, through a bursting, heated pain that burns her out -

Everything spins and tilts and she opens her eyes with a long huff, finding her breath, it's somewhere in her. She blinks, feeling her chest rise with coolness again, and wonders if all the Avatars' lovers are chosen by fate, if in every life someone is born to please a divine soul. She likes the one she got; he's grinning as he lifts his head, wiping the glistening off his chin with his palm.

Korra sits up, cocking the hat firmly over her head, and she traps Mako as he rises to his feet, her legs wrapped around his. She cradles his face in her hands, pulling him to her.

"Nice work, Officer Hot Stuff," Korra says, and he shrugs, smiling broadly.

"Live to serve, all that jazz," Mako says, and he hums as they kiss, his lips full of a sweet tang. Her bangs are slicked to her forehead with sweat and his uniform is completely un-creased, still spic-and-span, not a single thread out of place. He takes a step back as she scoots off the table, the wetness of her arousal dull and cooling, and Korra sidles up closer, slipping a hand between his legs, feeling the hard length straining against the fabric.

"You need help with that?" she purrs, palming with a bit more strength; and he tenses and huffs helplessly, eyes closed.

"Oh, fuck _yes_," Mako breathes, and he has to slow her down with kisses as she fumbles at the brass clasps and the zipper, rough in her excitement, and by the end his back is to the wall and he's bare, entirely bare, sweat running down the shallow furrows of muscle on his torso as he breathes ragged, his hands fisted in her hair. The uniform is scattered on the floor in soft black lumps that crumple under their own hollow weight, and Korra is still wearing the officer hat because why the fuck not, she thinks - it's the first warm day of spring, and such days are made for the easy love they wear.

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ugh they're sexy

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	4. Hana-ippai no Kareshi

A/N: For some reason I really like the idea of Mako as Korra's flower boyfriend, meaning she sticks flowers in his hair and crowns him with daisy chains while he grumbles (but secretly he really loves it!) because it's ridiculous and cute and fluffy. And I can't be all angst all the time, so there. My friend and I also have a running joke about Mako being a kuudere bishounen in a shoujo romcom anime and he has windowboxes full of flowers. (hana-ippai no kareshi means 'flowery boyfriend').

So yeah Mako and his flowers, have some fluff fic

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Mako likes the feel of damp earth in his hands, light cool in his palm, flecks of black-brown spotting his skin, darkening his nails; he is half Earth Kingdom, after all. He sinks his hand into the window box full of loose loam, turns it over, airs it out; and the scent rises rich and wild, full of water, striking him with a milky sweet calm.

The sun sings of springtime warmth with motes of light like notes of a melody, tilting and swooping on airy rays, and down below the street is mostly empty. It's market day; wizened old women with skin crinkled like lambskin totter down the sidewalk with their baskets, young men skipping past on swift feet with cheery salutes and winks. In the bag by the icebox Mako has coconut milk, onions ribbed with sleek sharp flavor, hot peppers that bite back, pale green whips of lemongrass; he will make _tom yum gai_ as soon as he's done.

_Why are you buying flower seeds? That doesn't seem like you, _Korra had asked, and he smiles to himself, at the flash of affection like sunlight in her sea-eyed smirk. Half of his and Bolin's stuff is still in cardboard boxes and crates, stacked in small tidy columns around their tiny new apartment, and there's not much but there's enough for them to live.

Mako buys flowers because - well, because they grow; and you have to stick around to watch things grow, make sure they stick around too. And so he's grown impatiens in dented tin cans in a back alley by the docks, succulents on the front steps of a triad hangout, nasturtiums in a soup tureen for Narook. He let morning glories creep across the windows of the arena attic and woke up to a sky ringing full of silk purple bells until Butakha made him pull the vines down, which he did, hanging out the window and muttering curses under his breath. And he'd dropped each long tendril of vine into the apartment, not even bothering to look; the glory was gone.

Mako takes the packets of seeds from the windowsill, making them rattle, and makes a clean rip across the corner of the first one: flowering kale seeds, pockmarked and brown. He pushes them into the earth, one by one, with a precise tuck of his fingers. Flowering kale grows broad and leafy, each edge curling on itself hundreds of times, the coastline of a hand-held continent. Resistant and bold, with enough pluck to turn pink instead of green; they thumb their noses at what you expect. They grow with cheek. So Mako plants them for Bolin.

And Mako rips the next packet open, taps the seeds out into his hand, thinking - _study for the academy exam. Fix the water heater. Pick up a double shift at the power plant_. He shoves the list out and thinks of Asami, _you look good champ_, winks and kisses thrown across crowds and arenas, jokes that snap and ruffle like the fabric in a smart girl's skirt. Glories-of-the-snow. He bought glories-of-the-snow - and Mako stops, staring at the seeds. All wrong: wrong seeds, wrong flower, wrong person. Well, no - it's just not the right season.

He takes a moment to be sheepish at himself, sigh in frustration. Asami is an orchid, not a glory-of-the-snow; a maroon orchid with velvety petals, dappled white, on a slender, unbreakable stem. If he had a real garden he'd give her dahlias, a sea of dahlias, snapdragons sailing like clipper ships on the rolling waves of dahlias, every petal a word he couldn't say and now he never will. Mako knows from experience (and he should have known it better) that some things grow when you let them and some things grow when you care for them, but in the end they will all lose their color, drop off and fade out until winter slinks away and spring dances back to the earth. It happens.

He curls his hand and puts the glory-of-the-snow seeds back into the paper envelope, sets it aside. And then he tucks bulbs of sedge on either side of the window box, flush to the kale. Their leaves will grow as fine-tipped swords, pale green and streaked with white

Mako inspects the rectangle of dirt with satisfaction, rippled and bumped over the spots where the seeds are hidden. He has three packets of seeds left and he opens the trailing ivies, the rip sound renting through the air; Mako scratches his nose, dirt and all, and scatters them liberally, so that the window box will burgeon with ivy, it will spill out and tumble into the space above the street, tease the fingers of children as they pass by and jump, snatching at the leaves.

And now he has Korra's flowers. He'd wanted birds of paradise and lingered over the seed packet at the flower stall in the marketplace. The flower vendor, a toothless old man, had pressed a seed into his hand and when he looked, it was dark brown with a bright orange shock of hair. He showed it to Korra - _look at this, it's swell _- and she laughed, _you're cute, you and your flowers. My flower boyfriend._

But he has no room for birds of paradise, they don't grow in window boxes, so he gave the seed back to the man. He takes a blessing only when he can do it justice.

Korra said she was more of a cactus than a flower anyway and he kissed her for that, wrapped his arm around her and smooched it to her temple because she's prickly and hardy and tough. And all her thorns make him bleed, bleed fire, there's fire in the blood and fire between each beat of his heart when she stings him with her eyes, her smile.

So Mako picked yellow tiger lilies, because they're the color of the way he loves her. (He doesn't tell her that. _No way_.) Pure sunlight on suede petals, springing forward in defiance, and he scoops out three hollows in the earth and drops a bulb into each one, crowds them together. Mako sweeps the dirt over them and opens the last and final packet, where there are several round bulbs, like cloves of garlic, covered in hoary thick fibers. Ugly things, shaped like a bad mistake. A lot of bad mistakes.

But they grow into sparaxis and he loves sparaxis: flowers that grin, whoop into bloom with sun-yellow throats and lips painted charcoal blue. And they blush deep colors of purple, orange, red; out of joy, out of hope. They cup their petals and catch the best kind of dreams, dreams that waft in on the wind from the hazy doze of days that lie before him, and pool like incense smoke into bowl of each flower. Mako bought them for himself.

Mako buries each bulb with the tiger lilies and the kale; and then he smoothens out the dirt, tips out a clear ribbon of water from a tin can and soaks the box. He claps his hands clean and goes to the kitchen sink, scrubs all the way up to his elbows; Korra, Asami, and Bolin will be back soon and it's time to make lunch. So Mako leaves his flowers to grow in peace, bathed in springtime, safe from the street and close at hand. Just the way he likes it.

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_"hana-ippai no kareshi" o tanoshimi kudasai_

like i said, fluff. make my day, send a review

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